


frottage

by stelleappese



Series: kinktober 2017 [3]
Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 18:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12259320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stelleappese/pseuds/stelleappese
Summary: Cèsar needs to see Eduardo at least one last time.





	frottage

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Kinktober 2017](https://kinktober2017.tumblr.com/post/163962052261/kinktober-2017).
> 
> Prompt: "Frottage".

Eduardo's look, lips pressed in a tight line, eyebrows scrunched together, tells Cèsar he thinks whatever he's up to is _not_  a good idea. Still, he doesn't say a word as long as Cèsar's bodyguards wander around his apartment, checking rooms and windows. They wait there, in the middle of Eduardo's living-room, facing each other in complete silence until the men leave and the door clicks shut behind them.

“Is something wrong?” Eduardo asks.  
 _Yes_ , Cèsar thinks, but he just says: “I've been thinking about something.”

He's not wearing a suit, Eduardo, just a pair of jeans and a crumpled shirt with rolled-up sleeves. He hasn't tried taming his hair, either; it's all fluffy and wild, long enough to start curling here and there.

“It's not safe for you to be here,” Eduardo says, “What would the media think if they knew you were here? What if Escobar's men had followed you?”  
“It was a pitiful way to say goodbye,” Cèsar says, “On my part. I should have said something. Something more. It wasn't right.”  
Eduardo's frown unfurls a little. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair.  
“It's all right,” he says, “You didn't need to come all the way here to tell me that. I understand.”  
“It's not just that.” Cèsar murmurs.  
“What is it, then?”

Cèsar looks at him. He has to tilt his head back a little to do that; it makes him feel so small.  
He steps closer slowly, hesitantly rests a hand on Eduardo's shoulder. He tries and fails to swallow down the lump in his throat.  
The look on Eduardo's face grows softer, more surprised than disapproving. His blue eyes study Cèsar's face, as if trying to read what's going on inside his head. When Cèsar touches Eduardo's cheek with his free hand, Eduardo instinctively comes closer; he molds a hand to Cèsar's waist.

There is a lot to say. A lot to explain. But the only thing Cèsar can do is let his hand slide from Eduardo's cheek to the back of his neck and pull him down for a kiss.

He doesn't know what to expect. He didn't know what to expect when he rushed out of his office earlier, either. He just wanted to see Eduardo, he just wanted to _touch_  him; feel him solid and alive and _real_.

It's a sweet little kiss, quick and soft, and when it's done, Cèsar is almost afraid to look at Eduardo. He's not sure he wants to know what he'll find written on his face.

But there's no cold in Eduardo's eyes, no steel at all. And before Cèsar can say anything, Eduardo is kissing him again, a hand digging through his hair, his tongue tracing the roof of Cèsar's mouth. Cèsar hums into the kiss, and Eduardo almost _gasps_.  
“Come here,” he murmurs, holding Cèsar closer, pressing their bodies together. He keeps kissing him, gently pushes him until Cèsar's back hits something, then he picks him up and makes him sit on whatever piece of furniture they've bumped into.

Eduardo snuggles closer, pushing Cèsar's legs apart. He drags his teeth against Cèsar's lower lip, tugging at his tie until he manages to untie it and let it fall on the floor; he unbuttons his collar, gives him one last kiss before he starts sucking on his throat.

“Eduardo...” whispers Cèsar, eyes closed, tilting his head back. Eduardo's fingers twitch around Cèsar's hair; he bucks his hips forward, his hard cock rubbing against Cèsar's thigh.  
Cèsar reaches out and grabs Eduardo's hips, spurring him on as he grinds against him.  
Eduardo sighs deeply, head resting against Cèsar's shoulder, his breath making Cèsar shiver as it touches his neck. He's holding Cèsar so very tight. He almost flinches when Cèsar reaches down and palms at his cock.

“God, Cèsar,” Eduardo murmurs, lips brushing against Cèsar's skin.  
“Keep going,” Cèsar says, giving Eduardo's cock a little squeeze, “Come on.”  
Eduardo keeps thrusting into Cèsar's hand, pressing little kisses against Cèsar's neck, rising up to his cheek; he presses his forehead to Cèsar's, brushes their noses together.

Their rhythm slows down, gets more deliberate. They're kissing again, Eduardo sucking on Cèsar's lips, hands cupping the sides of his neck.   
Cèsar feels hot enough to melt; shivers run up the inside of his thighs. He's in desperate need of some friction, but he doesn't want to let go of Eduardo, doesn't want their lips to part, their bodies to stop touching, not even just as long as it takes to ask him to touch him. He takes whatever he can get, wraps his legs around Eduardo's waist to pull him closer.

“I need you,” he murmurs, between kisses.  
Eduardo chuckles, he caresses Cèsar's face, presses a kiss to his cheek.   
“I'm right here,” he says, wrapping his arms around Cèsar and picking him up again, Cèsar holding on to him as he's carried to the bedroom.

 


End file.
